Eli fished keys from his pocket next to a burnished bronze, late-sixties International Scout II. A chrome roof rack perched atop the bone-white upper half of the two-door SUV.“Where’d you get this ride?”He grinned with a hint of Millennium Falcon pride. “Something I’ve been working on in the garage out back.”Naomi’s line rang seven times before rolling over to voice mail. “Hi, this is Naomi. Sorry I couldn’t take your call. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” A beep followed.“Hey, it’s me.” I looked around, searching the city, not sure how much was safe to say on a recording.Eli climbed in.I opened the passenger door. “So, I . . .”Eli reached under the driver’s seat and produced an obsidian black revolver in a leather holster.“Just give me a call.” I pulled the phone from my ear. “Doc” – I checked both directions – “what’re you doing? We’re right next to the police station.”He flipped the bullet cylinder out, his index finger straight along the three-inch barrel.
